Silver Lining
by Harvey Bautista
Summary: An exile returns to Scintilla, entering service into the Calixian Conclave of His Most Holy Ordos.  Against the Heretic, Xenos, and Daemon, this Administratum scion treads a path guided only by duty and conscience.
1. 01 Homecoming

Silver Lining (1.1)

What if everything wasn't a lie? Beyond yourself, what else is there but the God-Emperor and the destiny held before you? Faith and fury; warfare boundless and eternal. Your fate; helpless or chosen -upon which will you embark? Homo Sapiens against those that would challenge its supremacy, without, beyond, and within.

I bid thee welcome, Agent of the Throne. Facts alone are not a story. Without perspective, soul, and emotion, there can be no truth. Let my story be the epitaph to my clan, and discover who served the will of the God-Emperor from those who laugh and thirst in darkness.

Chapter One - Homecoming

Consciousness returned as the bulk dropship sank into Scintilla's atmosphere. It was a soft shudder, the chassis of the heavy vessel flexing with the impact as it entered a fluid environment from the void. Within the carapace-reinforced voidsuit, Venator Argentum initiated a familiar ritual. "Protect me, God Emperor, as I enter into your world's embrace, and guide our loyal souls to a safe landing. Allow us to progress Your great work."

"Praise be," a contralto voice replied, its dusky timbre making it through the comlink that was active between suits. He looked to his right and regarded his comrade, her face opaque through the lenses of the Sororitas power armor. Well maintained, it showed its age through previous users; newer patches, welds, bolts, and patches marking its dutiful service over the decades. Aglaia Adamo had been with him since childhood, his baptism through fire. A teenage novitiate when he had met her, she had been his family's guardian through the years the Argentum line had been exiled from Hive Tarsus. "Any concerns coming home?" she inquired.

"Yes, Aglaia." Performing a patdown of his suits pouches and of his armament, Venator fell back into repose. "Thank you for staying with me to see this through."

Her gauntleted fingers drew over her fleur de lys, tracing the scarred flower along its furrow. "Until we meet at the Emperor's right hand side."

The touchdown was brisk, but smooth. Before the dropship could complete shutdown procedures, Venator and Aglaia had already freed themselves from their crash restraints. The luggage remained packaged with them within the cargo compartment the skipper of the dropship had allocated to them; using the crew's facilities as required, the two had remained isolated from the rest of the vessel's passengers, but politely conversed with the cargo crewmen and security personnel.

Venator left Aglaia to change behind a modular container. Disengaging the seals on the voidsuit, he clothed himself in middling finery; the semi-formal/semi-field uniform of the Elysian Drop Troops. After the honorable discharge and reassignment from the Elysian, he had elected to continue bearing their uniform with pride.

Dressed in gray and green wicking fibers, the field trousers, blouse were of clean, utilitarian lines, with only enough creases to pass military standards. The buttons were tarnished silver, the trim and piping on his uniform matte black thread. It fit him loosely, cinched around the waist, shoulders, hips, and calves; a forced cavalier effect sought by units believing themselves mavericks but still above the common cut. The pockets were utilitarian, the folds disguising their capacity, concealed pockets in the loose spaces.

What the deliberate loose fit hid were the segmented light carapace cuirass covered by a vest along with several smaller plates woven into the swells of his thighs and biceps as well. Beneath the wicking weave, specifically to keep the wearer cool, was the thicker mesh and flak-lining, expertly tailored to him in sets. Venator affected a sash reinforced with metal fibers, a dark canopy shade with gunmetal highlights where the light caught the particles. It presented him as a stout individual, belying his dimunitive size. To complete his appearance as a military-retiree pursuing the freelance life were his 'ceremonial' weapons. The only thing marring the effect was a distinct lack of augmetics and aging barring rejuvenat treatments.

The blade was of folded adamantine alloyed with titanium to reduce weight. Industrial diamond-dust within the compressed layers caused a wavy distortion effect on the blade. Its shape was a recurved saber; a heavy jutting forte, a pronounced recurved taper and an angular heavy tip with a light set of adamantine finger guards and extended grip was worn defiantly on a frog along his left hip. The circuitry that ran Hugging along on his right in its own thigh rig was a rare enough sight, as close to brazen tech-heresy as possible.

The archaic laspistol he wore in a molded leather holster drew its own share of inquisitive attention; whenever asked, he simply referred to it as a compact hellpistol; one that happened to shoot plasma as well. The technonical feeding mechanism altered along with the grip, contoured to his grip and loaded with double-capacity overcharged laspistol cells. It raised the focusing and cooling mechanisms, enabling them to be longer, thus more precise. The offset in balance was the blatant companion weapon. The bottom of the weapon system was a miniaturized plasma pistol, the bottle being shielded and laid laterally underslung the barrel. The weapon was heavy even with all the lightening, fusing, and simplification of common structural parts, but practice made perfect, and even pre-apostasy wonder weapons could be surpassed by a maximal plasma blast. With its firing mechanism restructured, the 'PlasmaLas' had a shared trigger group, the fire selector choosing between precision and devastation.

From a canteen over his hindquarter, he gargled and rinsed his face, taking a look in the mirror and seeking affirmation. Brow cocked in mischief, always the hint of a smile, his green eyes encouraged him between the bridge of a scarred nose that never set right. It was a jocular appearance that hovered between mocking and bemusement. It was truth, and it was a lie.

Replacing the void equipment into its locker, he emerged from the makeshift boudoir and pocketed a dataslate into the field jacket. Aglaia had just disconnected from a power terminal, obtaining the last amount of charge her suit would require as it went into minimal draw -a practice that had helped them survive on more than one occassion during protracted campaigns amongst the Elysians. With her bolter magnetically secured across her abdominal plates, She had locked in a shorter box magazine for convenience. Its attendant sarissa retracted, and she wore an assortment of polymer magazine pouches that likewise girded her armor and her hips. Wishing he could see her eyes, Venator addressed her beneath the facade of the Sabbatine helm. "Backbrief," he intoned.

With that statement, the odd couple began their movement out of their private hold and into the ship's primary cargo corridors, Venator obtaining his first direct glance of Scintillan sunlight in two decades, causing him to wince slightly as he repressed the feelings and memories that began to stir.

For his convenience, she had switched to her speaker system, not registering the brisk winds that had entered the ship. "Upon arrival, secure belongings onto personal transport and report to Arbites Precinct IX Court Fortress; establish formal contact with the Tricorn for introduction." As the two debarked from the dowdy lander, Aglaia's armored countenance intimidated the customs personnel from even approaching them. This close to the seat of Inquisitional authority, even the dourest of Munitorum peons would take exception to Sororitas presence. Once free of the port drones, the two leaned back against their fresh-stacked belongings and idly observing the crew servicing the lander on the platform.

Aglaia glanced through the hive towers, monitoring an entity beyond Venator's vision. "Confirm sighting of single Arbite vehicle..." she trailed, "Enforcer six-by-six with trailer," she continued the report, using the sensors inside the Sabbatine helm to identify the only combat vehicle on the artery approaching the spaceport. Taking her gaze from the Enforcer, she lowered her head to hold his stare. "It appears that the Arbites have pre-empted our arrival."

With a slight shrug, Venator replied, "That bears a good impression for this precinct." He turned to forestall the cargo hauler and its crew that was approaching them. "well, it saves us a fee, so I suppose I am quite grateful for their welcoming hospitality."

The Enforcer smoothly sidled up to the pair on the pad with a sharp fanfare of air-brakes screeching and the well-worn chassis' muted groan. The gunner within the armored cupola had raised the heavy stubber high in the six o'clock position, and lowered its scark enough to light up a lho-stick on its short break -between the flak helmet and the goggles, its gender was difficult to ascertain.

The truck commander's armored door opened ponderously and the pair saw an average female figure, rendered sexless by the light riot carapace remove her judge's helmet and disengage her headset. Quickly releasing her harness, she swung her legs out from the truck and precariously her feet found the step-rung. She half-ambled, half-leapt onto the ground, and Venator analyzed both the impatient driver as well as the sheathed shotgun where the TC had just vacated.

The Arbite cut a rookie composure. Rejuvenat would only affect appearance, not bearing, and there was an eager, almost optimistic quality from their welcomer.

A sing-song voice with the local hive accent spoke, "Welcome to Scintilla, Sage Argentum," she emphasized, extending her reinforced gauntlet to Venator's own in a firm handshake, "and..."

Returning hospitality with courtesy, Venator supplied her. "Sister Aglaia, Familius, raised from the Order of Our Martyred Lady. My conscience," he gibly spoke, "if you will."

It raised a strawberry blond eyebrow only a shade darker than the Arbite's hair. She coughed, nodding out of politeness as the Sororitas continued to regard her helmed, the opaque lenses revealing nothing, nor did the matte-black armor and deep red fabric other than an animate construct of the God-Emperor's wrath. "I am Arbitrator Mika Silesia, Precinct 0, Headquarters Calixis Sector. We can talk en route to Precinct IX, meanwhile," she motioned for the driver to get out, revealing a hiver in ill fitting Arbite trappings, which drew a curious look from Venator, as did the Carnodon worn prominently across her abdomen, "my 'associate' Kix and I can help you get your luggage stowed."

Taking a moment to stand aside, Venator pulled own his own mentholated lho-stick, and examined the small Inquistional seal that she had palmed him. "Pardon my disregard for procedure, much less intrigue," he continued as he went to stack their belongings in the squat quad-wheeled trailer that Kix unlocked. "Has there been any changes to our reception plans between my last contact at the lagrange point and touchdown here?"

He took a moment as the first hit of lho hit his lungs to gaze over his childhood hive. He had been so young during his family's flight. He appreciated the moment, before blinking away the smoke that the shipmaster's rules had denied him through the landing transit. Maintaining a civil and from what he could see behind hazel eyes, mischief, Kix spoke to them for the first time. "Pardon, governor," playing every bit the part of eager assistant. "We wouldn't want to miss Arbitrator Mika's timetable, would we? Best we embark as soon as possible to get you right proper accomodations."

Within their closed vox-link Venator heard Aglaia's query, but decided to play along. Engaging in the facade, he played the part of a gullible adept. "We've rested enough, and I would like to meet the timetable."

After a brusque, but charmed piling of travel and combat worn containers, Venator keenly aware of Aglaia's suit making her the most prodigous worker, and the demographic he was now surrounded by, the quintet boarded the Enforcer, and drove out the spaceport.

His feet dangling off the floor in a riot-configured guntruck, Venator took a pair of headsets mounted from the ceiling and initiated his questioning. "Compromise? Or change of plans?"

"Not your fault," Mika assured him, taking back the seal that Venator handed her. "Seems someone at the Tricorn took alarm when they finally took a closer look at your dossier. Not quite your time there I was told." She looked back over her shoulder at the two of them in the back seat. Aglaia behind the driver finally unsealed her visor and lifted it upwards. Storm-streaked eyes framed by black bangs peered out. It had been quite evident that the Sororitas had only been a moment away from eliminating their three welcomers since they had gotten in range of the Mars-pattern Scourge. "Relax sister," the arbitrator coolly warned her, "our meeting was to happen later on -after your establishment on Scintilla, but recent events have hastened this. We have a couple of hours to our next destination. Sit back, and I'll fill you in."

To be continued

*~* Author's Notes *~*

Based on Dark Heresy, and will expand to incorporate Rogue Trader and Deathwatch. I will make the effort to stay faithful to the source material, and I look forward to this 'grimdark' challenge, hoping to convert some of that into 'grimsnark'.

My strength is in narration, though I'm working to keep a lot of the purple in out. Wish me luck!

Also, this is the v1.1 of this chapter. I chose to retcon several scenes and perform some editing.


	2. 02 A Change of Plans

A Change of Plans (1.0)

* * *

No plan survives contact with the enemy. Mine did not survive ten minutes past planetfall, before I could even make contact with the Ordo Calixis formally at the Tricorn Palace. The plan had been compromised, but were the forces that came to retrieve us benevolent, or our would-be assassins. My father told me never to look a gifted Ogryn in the mouth. Why the fuss at my arrival?

* * *

The drive out was mundane as the Enforcer pushed past the checkpoint leading to the on-ramp of the artery. The Arbitrator keyed into the headset. "Thirteen X-Ray, this is Zero Maul Eight, departing Gatekeeper Docks time now, five pax, one vic, how copy, Out." She hopped onto another channel. "Team, this is Arbite. Pickup complete, en route, ETA two hours. Out."

Continuing to take in the sites of Hive Sibellus, and its overbearing glory as the black pearl in the Calixian Crown through the armored windows, Venator regarded Mika's stare sidelong from the sideview mirror. "What exactly would have led to this uproar?"

"Protection for you as much as for the council," Mika remarked, before taking a sip from a flask. Venator chose not to comment as he noticed that she was returning it to Kix, who took a small slug herself at the wheel before haphazardly placing it uncapped in a bin. _I never did have a sense of smell_, he reflected. As she stopped wincing from the burn, she continued. "Your portfolio was remarkably comprehensive for a Throne Agent, especially for one who hadn't participated in many Inquisitional assignments, six years with the Elysians. The two year blank during your adolescence that has Grey Knight seals on it did raise some questions." Her chipper tone dripped sarcasm in an peculiar manner, and Venator could tell Aglaia was being irked by the way Mika placed an upwards, almost questioning, inflection in her statements. "But at its core, you are from the Ordo Solar, the mothership –Terra! Look, outside of psykers, not too much talent comes to us direct from them, not unless we petition," she emphasized again and the schooling in Venator grimaced, "and your 'section transfer'," she described using her armored digits, "seemed suspect. The Holy Ordos here would appreciate a more concrete hello than your sudden appearance and the level of clearance that you just displayed in your announcement. Had you stepped within the Tricorn, your sanction would've enabled you to rifle through our most sensitive archives without the conclave's consent; that alone would've been a quick ticket to a funeral." She hissed through her teeth. "That would've stirred every Radical and hyper-Puritan Inquisitor to eliminating you lest they be discovered and purged. We may be out here in the boonies from Glorious Terra, but we do have these things called astropaths."

"What if I had come with a critical mission to the Calixis Sector? Something that had to reach the Inquisitor Lord himself?" Venator parried casually.

"You'd have been eliminated before the week -the High Lords know that sector Lord Inquisitors would act on this. Titan-issued seals? Not out of treachery, but because you'd have compromised millenia-long efforts to root out the traitor factions from within. Only another Lord Inquisitor could be this 'spontaneous' without signing their own death warrants." Mika ran her index finger along the armored glass in a spiral outwards. "Solar would never have released you under a purge mission, we understand, because this is how the Calixian Conclave would react. This is a precaution, to ease you into the Calixian scene -even if this was where you were born."

"Cha!" Kix muttered, looking at Venator over her shoulder, even as the vehicle was in the midst of a lane change. "This directive came from _him_, boss. He'd said you'd challenge us at the port if it was so critical. Came in like honeymooners, did you, gah!" She exclaimed as Aglaia grasped her shoulder, a gentle touch backed up by armor.

"I assure you," Aglaia spoke to them, her rich contralto unhindered by the electronic hiss of speakers or static, "that our intentions are to help the Calixian Conclave and to assist you in the hunt, denouncement, and annihilation of the God-Emperor's enemies in the Calixis Sector."

"I am driving here," Kix complained, rolling her shoulder as Aglaia let her go. "Famulous, huh? Those prickly snits?" She reached out again from the flask to take another pull, reaching blindly back as she sought to clear her vision. Kix tapped the gunner through her Maccabean Jannissary fatigues, and the gunner reached down and took it from her.

"Sister Adamo cannot tell a lie," Venator interjected, "but I know myself to embellish every now. And every then," he continued smoothly, his voice as venomous silk. The jibe died on his lips however as he noticed the droplets coming from the cupola wasn't a spilled drink, but a sloppy pour as the gunner refilled the flask, and from more than one bottle too, judging from the different colors pooling on the gunner's plate. "Corporal Bartender, I may as well enjoy the celebration."

"Welcome to the party sir, and its Sergeant Kalta, Hazael," the voice replied in a clipped, albeit tipsy, cadence.

Venator ignored the silent grumble from Aglaia over his commbead. The cocktail he shot from the flask burned with a wintergreen aftertaste. It was good for what it was. "Good stuff, that. And Sergeant?"

"Roger?"

"It is Sage, Sarge. I work for a living like you noncoms too. You do not see me with an autoquill or robes, do you?" Venator took another swig, chapping his lips and letting out a cool breath. "I feel minty fresh for some reason."

"Roger, Sage." She laughed. "Glad you approve. Departo Dentorium surgical mouthwash... gets past inspection every time." Hazael dipped into the compartment, holding onto the now-locked turret ring in a squat. "Y'all two don't seem too bad for Solar pukes, Go-" she caught the epithet at Aglaia's glare. "For Solar y'ain't Holier than tho-" this time an audible click interrupted her and she saw from Venator's expression that the Scourge bolter on semi just went to full. "I mean you're good people." She grumbled. "May have been dicey in case you two didn't cooperate."

"Especially since," Mika resumed control of the brief-cum-ersatz commentary, "I can believe Sister Adamo to be completely on the up-and-up, your family didn't depart from here in a good way." Venator only smiled at the revelation of the obvious.

"I'd like to think that I would be above petty vendettas, Arbitrator." Venator joked.

"More like a purge of a power faction on Scintilla using Inquisitional sanction," chuckled Mika. "I don't know everything about your situation, you know. I'd probably approve if you smeared clean the scum."

"What's that?" Kix protested.

"But, Lord Inquisitor Caidin, and much less, Lord Sector Hax may have issue had you simply dove in and began claiming what was yours, punishing those who wronged your house, or whatever batch of mischief and revenge typically follows a returning exile." Mika looked disappointed as anything beyond glib amusement remained on Venator's face. The only physical reaction was a third swig from the flask. "Again, whatever your agenda, they decided to ease you in from the shadows. Approval from the Calixian Conclave and accreditation from Terra would render you untouchable." Mika stuttered onto her next sentence. "Helping us out on a few cases... you know, what Inquisitors would do."

"I am but a Sage," Venator retorted, mock deprecation clinging to his words, tossing the flask across to Aglaia.

"I'll be damned," came the muted blasphemous epithet from Kix, and everyone in the vehicle reeled as she corrected the wheel and the trailer bumped a smaller vehicle into another lane.

Through the jolt, Aglaia's lips never left the flask, nursing from the cocktail until she took the emptied flask upside down and held it towards an astonished Hazael. "Sergeant, the God-Emperor bless you for this refreshment. You have been gifted by him with an affinity for the simpler things in life."

Retreating back into her cupola to resume traversing the turret in an unnecessary gesture of menace towards interrupting traffic, Sergeant Kalta took a moment to reply. "I pray that He looks on us all so well, Sister."

"And woe to His enemies..." Mika trailed. "Just as Sister Adamo is Famulous. Your records are sealed beyond that stage as well. You obviously pull seniority or superiority over me in the Holy Ordos so we know who the true team leader will be, but since we have all been assigned to a grand Inquisitorial tour of the Calixian Sector, in the future, preferably before our imminent deaths, you could grant us some candid moments. Preaching to my choir here, our fates have just been intertwined with yours." The Arbitrator facade had finally dropped, along with the admission of her Acolyte cell status.

"Oh, I am grateful," Venator replied. "I will not apologize for how I am, because it will take a force beyond death to change who I am. Be careful about only seeking the truth from me; you will get it. The first admission is that I am pleased with this arrangement. My agenda you will see unfold as it progresses, and for you and company I will be a loyal expert. I will die before I fail you." He chuckled dismissively. "I held that oath before the God-Emperor and proved it to the Elysian 172nd. I saw that regiment honorably discharged on a reconquered world after facing a full array of the Imperium's more tangible foes in my tour of crusade with them. They were the most terrible and the most fulfilling moments in my brief life, and I would be honored if I could continue that pledge serving alongside you." He puckered a quick kiss to Kix in the rearview mirror. "Even you, drinks-and-drives."

"Kix is shorter, guv'nor," came the gutter accent. "Be fun meeting the end with you, sounds like." She jerked a thumb back at the Sororitas. "Think you and her could vouch for me when the time comes?"

"He judges all on His terms, and Him alone." Aglaia quoted.

"A kind nudge wouldn't hurt my chances," Kix needled.

"It would have been less surreal Arbitrator Silesia, had I simply made you for an assassination, and fought it out at the spaceport." Venator flicked the ashes on the burning cherry to the floor.

"I trusted that my Acolyte's seal would render me authentic," Mika admitted. "I dislike being placed in a situation where I can only react to potentially being killed over a misunderstanding." She would have said more, but the Arbite channel she was monitoring on the vox

"S'why me and Sarge stayed in the Enforcer," quipped Kix.

"Wouldn't have helped against close-air support," postured Venator. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Sage Argentum," the buzzed driver remarked. "I would like to end today with me britches dry."

"That'll happen on its own given a couple of hours," Venator assured her. "Now that we've shattered the ice between us, Arbitrator, would you please brief us on our assignment?" He pulled a data slate and its stylus, opening up an operational order template that had served him since his inception to the Elysians.

"I'd love to..." Mika trailed, her head cocked on one side. Venator turned to his headset's control box and dialed into the same channel she was monitoring.

"-irteen X-Ray. This is Vermillion Ten. Contact! Cold Trade smugglers fortified at warehouse on hab blo-" the transmission bursted through in cold static. "PDF in support. Able to fix enemy only. Xenos weapons!"

Venator re-tightened his seat restraints and unsnapped the catches on his pistol and his sword. Aglaia began to pray. Speaking over her, Venator touched Mika's shoulder. "We're yours; how bad?"

"Good," she replied, looking at the tactical display mounted on her dashboard. "Precinct XIII scrambling Rhinos and local PDF station dispatching Chimaeras. Leman Russ platoon twenty klicks away. Guard Valkyries spinning up at Drusus Barracks." The uptone in her statement flatlined into monotone analytical. "ETA of nearest unit is ten minutes."

"Ours?"

"We're only five klicks out..." she replied.

"I haven't seen frak! No visual!" called out Sergeant Kalta from the turret, the targeting auspex hindered by intervening hab spires in the hive.

"Hang on..." Kix warned as the vehicle accelerated, shifting into the rightmost lane, the trailer again clipping another vehicle, a bulk hauler this time. All traffic on the artery immediately slowed at the burst of activity from the Arbite vehicle. "Which hab?" she asked.

"Lambda Gamma twenty three and Mu Delta Oh-Eight!" Mika confirmed from the tac display. No other transmission had come from the beleaguered Vermillion element and its accompanying PDF soldiers. "We're going in hot and blind!" she called out, her emotion returning.

"My idea of a _good_ time..." cracked Kix.

Grabbing onto an overhead handle by the door, Venator joined Aglaia in her prayer. "God-Emperor, grant me the strength to smite thine enemy!"

* * *

As viewed from above, the smuggling bust had escalated into a siege where the defenders held considerably more firepower and manpower than the Imperial forces. Yet, in the face of the enemies of the Lex Imperialis, and particularly those who would dabble with xenos heretek, the Imperial ensemble would only advance through their hate. Containment was for the weak; the strong would triumph in spite of losses.

Two Enforcer-pattern patrol vehicles were in flames, one smouldering gunner dutifully at his post, cooking alone after spending his last moments expending the heavy stubber's ammo bin against targets in the hardened structure. The warehouse had been built as an emergency shelter for this section of the lower-class hab spire, and it stood firm in the face of medium weapons chipping away at the ferrocrete bastion.

A disabled Chimaera stood firm on the south side, its right track torn away, yet presenting its strong side, the heavy bolter and turreted multi-laser continued to spit defiance, its dismounted squad of PDF infantrymen in textbook prose dug into cover around the vehicle, presenting a target irregular in width and depth against the enemy who held multiple levels of elevation above them. The Chimaera driver's head lolled idly to the side, twitching still from the grazing shuriken catapult fire that had struck him in the face, his lasgun now still in his locked hands.

On the eastern front, half concealed by stalagmite structures on that level, the two remaining Chimaeras presented their fore armament. A heavy weapons team deployed from each vehicle. The single mortar crew was wreaking ineffectual racket on the facade of the warehouse, still adjusting for effect against a vertical surface. Only one grenadier still lived, being fed by both Chimaera's stock of frag and krak launched grenades. The final heavy weapons team had sought shelter deep within a sheltering structure, engaging from a room on the opposite side of that building, exchanging fire against main entrance to the warehouse. The remaining baker's dozen of PDF infantrymen advanced in bounding overwatch, claiming covered position a handful of meters by echelon. Each element had a flamethrower clearing dead space as they bounded.

Already, there was a growing amount of bodies on the steps to the warehouse. Two dead Arbites when the first shots were fired and pandemonium broke out as the smugglers and their mercenaries mobilized, and a score of the criminals themselves as they had first sought to maneuver against and overwhelm the surprised Imperial forces with the overhead covering fire behind their backs. It had turned into a stalemate that was beginning to toll against the attacking Imperials as PDF soldiers fell to the battery of potshot fire from the small windows of the warehouse.

The rain of death against the Imperials were an electic and heretical assortment. Shuriken fire and las bolts, pulse rifles alternating with stubber fire, the extremely loud reports coming from Ork shootas and explosions from bolts impacting. Silent for the moment were the autocannon and missile launchers that had been suppressed by Imperial fire, the weapons relocated to spring another pressure-point burst. The first wave had destroyed the Enforcers, the second had disabled the first Chimaera and driven the others to cover.

The five surviving Arbites advanced, the leading pair armed with Armsman-10 service pistols and riot shields, the trailing trio behind them with shotguns. They had found an enfilade indirect approach to warehouse's southern face, the shields saving them from most of the abuse, whilst the disabled Chimaera's dismounts provided covering fire for their advance. That Chimaera's special weapons team of two meltaguns accompanied them.

A smuggler bulk hauler was burning, blocking any more vehicles from escaping the garage; the mortar-men and grenadiers had done terrific work on the second smuggler attempt to break out. A second hauler smoldered behind it within the garage itself, further frustrating the smugglers inside in their escape attempt.

To complicate matters, the Ministorum cathedral half a block down had mobilized immediately, having been roused mid-mass during a service of Frateris Militia. This being their hab block, a stray missile shattering a statue of Saint Drusus, and heretical weapons seen firing against Arbite and PDF units, this broke the record for the quickest issue of autoguns, stub pistols, and church-made promethium cocktails to an already riled mob. More than one ex-PDF militiaman had added to the standard litanies of hate, protection, and marksmanship to give a brief prayer of thanks to the God-Emperor for finally giving them an excuse.

Four centuries of Frateries Militia surged in human waves down the avenue, forsaking tactical movement for a mob blitz, steadily covering the distance to the firefight. Already the southern side of the warehouse was being peppered with stub weapons of varying calibers, buying the Arbites and melta-team their lives as the entire southern defenders reeled from the ricochets. A roof-top detachment of mercenaries had finally deployed heavy stubber positions from the roof, along with their own grenadiers and tore into the mob. The ground party had almost reached the wall.

The next domino to topple was as the Frateris Militia tore down the avenue, a Mechanicus Shrine that produced the Omnissiah's Balls of Bearing came under fire from overzealous priests. Having miraculously shot out the security auspexes, the Mechanicum naturally came to the most logical conclusion during the sudden blackout. The hereteks had engaged them instead. As one of the two oversized balls of bearing dropped after the chain suspending it from the Divine Cog, the techpriests' collective fuses blew.

A squad of Skitarii burst out of the Omnissiah's portals immediately opening up with hellguns upon the southern side; the Frateris Militia cheered and the Ministorum priests took up cries with unity with their mechanical God-Emperor fearing brothers. The octet of ballistic servitors certainly cowed the troublemakers as well. Not to be forgotten were the maintainers of the holy shrine of balls of bearing hot on their weight-stabilized heels.

And the last 'friendly' element to arrive on scene rounded a corner, a lone Enforcer hauling its trailer, its passengers and crew unaware of the chaos they were about to plunge into.

* * *

Even as Sergeant Kalta swiftly identified targets on the structures rooftop and upper two stories to engage, a collective statement echoed through the vehicle.

"What the frak?"

The building remained strong externally, but the damage showed itself through the bodies of Cold Trade smugglers and their mercenary henchmen dropping sporadically from the roof and the windows.

Kix hissed even as she picked up speed after the turn, a slight drift from the outside of the curve to the inside so as to add deflection to the enemy gunners that had yet to notice them. "Arby, still want to take us in to that mess?"

Mika was on the verge of a tactical shift when the fortunes of conflict took another turn. A service elevator to the roof, in several rotations had lifted Griffon-pattern mortars and as they were being emplaced, so were the ammunition being delivered. The trio of mortars shot at point-blank vertical trajectories, and there was no missing this close to the mark. Those solid mass of Frateris Militia took the heaviest hits. Those that weren't annihilated by the frag munitions were thrown clear, dazed. A fine blood mist lay in the center of the ensuing dust cloud. The half-dead lay writhing, sitting, or wandering now in shock. Then the second barrage hit. Within the blood cloud, less than a century of combat-effective Frateris advanced, their fervent bloodlust chilled to lethal and focused intent.

Some mishap occurred on the roof. A mortarman fell in the midst of dropping a round into the tube. The munition struck the ground tail first after it had been fuzed. It initiated the small charge on its fin base and set the round spiraling, ricocheting first off the tube it was supposed to be launched from before scoring a miraculous shot underneath the flak-blanketed ammunition dump. Finally, an effect that shook the building. With all three tubes outright destroyed or displaced by the explosion, the roof was clear. The weapons fire from the uppermost four stories ceased while the remaining floors began to engage as their occupants recovered from the blast.

Thirty grueling levels up, just slightly taller the warehouse, a sniper-spotter team struggled to regain their breaths after they had only gotten to position moments before. The spotter nodded approval to his partner for the superb snapshot taking on the fly, and as the debris cloud reached their improvised nest, he saw a trail of fresh tears trickling down the funeral mask the dust had made of her face.

Venator made his decision even as Aglaia growled her hate. "Kix, eastern approach. The south is not a viable avenue."

"Roger," came the chipper reply, belying the numbness even she felt. The vehicle took another turn taking them out of the view of the fight before they turned against one block down, this time staring at the firing line of Chimaeras and PDF.

Returning to his braced posture of his left hand on the released of the buckle, and his right braced against the handle of the door, Venator found his core. The same element of collected focus that he had come to cultivate all the times the ramp of the Chimaera, Rhino, Valkyrie, or Aquila dropped open and he would launch himself into the fire. To survive, maintain battle focus, and to eliminate those that would have killed him were he less fortunate than his comrades who fell instead.

That cool sharpened his awareness, and he went momentarily blind as an orb of oblivion shot through the debris clogging the east garage and detonated amongst the PDF positions.

"What the frak!" Kix screamed again whilst Mika and Hazael ran through protective litanies spoken by children. Kix somehow maintained enough control of the vehicle to keep it moving forward in the frozen seconds that followed the blast, even as they ran over where the road had been buckled by the sudden vacuum that detonated into itself.

Aglaia was untouched, continuing to recite a personal prayer of vengeance.

"D-Cannon," muttered Venator, his vision returning in degrees. "Eldar mega-weapon." He looked at the frozen ripple and obelisk of debris where the PDF had made their heroic stand. Nothing remained, though a couple of the infantrymen that had been advancing had somehow not been blown through or within the spatial collapse. "We've got time! Into that garage."

Fighting the counterweight of the luggage trailer, the Enforcer slew in line with the garage, the crystal clarity of the air revealing a quartet of floating bladed platforms, each hosting a single rider wielding a spear-like weapon. Before Venator could finish declaring "Hellions," much less, "Fire Lances," Hazael had already stitched a lethal burst across one pair of riders.

Even as the remaining two split and met the vehicle head on to raze it from a lethal pass, Kix slewed the vehicle to the left to complete the curve, bringing both skyboard riders to slam into the armored cargo trailer and bounce off, the mesh armor they wore being insufficient protection against the side of the LexHaul Arbite trailer.

The maneuver saved their lives as the bright lance secondary mount on the Cobra shot in between the Enforcer and its freshly blooded LexHaul. The second burst, this time cyclic engaged the cockpit of the Cobra, its void shields still dropped after firing the D-Cannon.

In the Cobra pilot's death rictus, the Eldar Super-Heavy vehicle accelerated and pivoted left, smashing into the remainder of the Cold Trader motor pool. The clean, sleek, and utterly perverted lines of the Cobra belied its strength as it plowed through and grav-ground underneath itself upon several of the enemies own xenos heretek skimmers. Only the hellion riders escaped the Cobra's drive, the vehicle becoming stuck after penetrating two meters deep into the basement garage's wall, the D-Cannon now utterly mangled.

As the lance wielding Hellions tried the classic cavalry tactic of the rising up to dive down upon the Enforcer at various angles, Mika finally cried out. "Ready!" With that second syllable the doors on the right side slammed open, and Mika screamed the second command. "Pull!"

An Arbite shotgun, Venator's plasma secondary, Aglaia shooting across his front with her Scourge, and Kix taking her hands off the wheel to tandem wield two Carnodons . Everyone engage the flight of six, and then there were none.

Meanwhile, Hazael was merrily engaging the survivors of the Cobra stampede she had caused, riddling them as they struggled to recover. "Die, Xenos-Frakkers, die..." she sang in a merry ditty, timing a quick burst and acquiring new targets to euthanize with each stretched syllable.

"Kix, stay with Sergeant Kalta and take care of any friendly wounded that make it here, everybody else: dismount!" Venator commanded, Aglaia naturally falling in with him with Mika filling in the other leg, making them a rolling wedge, and advancing towards a service stairwell. Remaining crouched low, chin up and presenting himself shoulders squared, Venator advanced with the combi-pistol in secure two-handed grip, the sights aligned with his right eye. He crouched as he reached the open landing and the three covered themselves.

The surviving quintet of PDF had finally emerged into the building, hauling two fallen comrades. Venator waved them first to the Enforcer and shifted the summon to himself.

"Sergeant Dreyfus," a lanky man in well-fitted flak armor reported to the Arbitrator. "How many more reinforcements?"

"Ten more minutes and the hammer drops," Mika told him. "Ready to finish this fight?"

The ranking survivor took a glance at the ramp leading upwards outside. "God-Emperor willing, we'll see this through." He offered a reverent nod towards the Sororitas. "Rare to see Ecclesiarchy, Mechanicus, Arbite, and..." he trailed quizically at the sigil emblazoned on Venator's shoulders. "the Administratum?"

"Dutifully providing intelligence to the combatant, on demand." Venator waved the PDF into an opposite stack on the stairwell door. "Bottom-up clearance. Claim and hold a breach at the lobby, and keep clearing upwards till the smugglers are all accounted for."

The non-commissioned officer accepted his words as if they were gospel. A center of calm in a situation that only kept going deeper and deeper into Klybo, he accepted the adept's directives. "Understood, Sage." Another look back earned him affirmative nods along the line of troopers.

Flexing his legs before launching up the stairwell, Venator exhorted them: "Strike hard!"

* * *

Kix laughed and pointed at the site of the hellion collision while she performed a quick damage assessment of the enforcer. "Lookie, the 'Haul still has those two boards humming -splat!" she laughed.

"Praise be the God-Emperor: Master of Mankind, and Omnissiah of the Machine Spirits," exulted Hazael, locking in fresh belts of linked heavy stubber ammunition, before lovingly spraying sanctified weapon unguent onto her instruments of devotion's intimate working parts.

Kix took an appreciative air. "Frak yeah!"

*~* Author's Notes *~*

I am beginning to introduce additional characters to the cast, flesh out some action-driven narration, more dialogue, and binding links to GW/FFG canon.


End file.
